


Spoonfuls

by Minkey222



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Eating Disorder, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Angst, just look after my child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minkey222/pseuds/Minkey222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would go without if it meant another spoonful in the mouth of the one he loves. Except he doesn't need to do that anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoonfuls

**Author's Note:**

> My child, I am sorry. I just, I cant. I'm sorry. I just love to watch my children suffer.

He would go without if it meant another spoonful in the mouth of the man he loved. At least that’s what he tells himself and it would make sense to, except it wasn’t the great depression anymore and he didn’t have to go without at all if he didn’t want to. It wasn’t a case of ‘look after the food you have because you don’t know when the next meal comes about’ or ‘don’t eat all your bread at once because the price might increase or your wages drop’. No, this time, he had a steady job, unlike back in the 20’s where he couldn’t pull his weight. It was more of a guilt he felt. Back then, almost an eternity ago if felt, he would feign nausea and explain away the extra with a loss of appetite. Sure he didn’t have the weight to lose- he was skin and bones as it was- but he’s much rather he keep his friend in good health. Why keep a man with one foot in the grave well fed? There was no point in it.  
But now there was no economic slump to keep the food away, he was in good health, had good pay and good friends and even better yet- his Best boy was back from the grasp of Death and he couldn’t be happier. At least that’s what he told himself. He ignored the twisting pit that every mouthful caused in his stomach, he ignores the stabs of remorse for every gulp of clean water he takes when so many others don’t have such niceties. And so- he resolves- he shall simply cut down on the food he is wasting on himself and will do as much as possible for those without because he’s doing it for them. He’s simply being who he is supposed to be as Captain America, the epitome of heroics and justice- At least that’s what he tells the media when they ask about the new charity work and the impressive donations.  
No, deep down he knows that it’s to completely obliterate the rattling dysphoria he feels when he looks in the mirror at this body that isn’t his. To help ignore the empty, hollow feeling he gets, feeling like a child in their parent's clothes. Perhaps, he thinks, if he returns to his old ways, go without to feed someone else, then he will look the same old Steve he was so long ago.  
Yes, he thinks, he will do just that.

* * *

 

It hadn’t been a particularly taxing fight, a few robots and few aliens. As was a standard Saturday afternoon but he couldn’t shake that overall feeling of wrongness. It started with a tremor now and then and then a dry scratchy feeling in the back of this throat. He ignored it, it was dusty out there and he had exerted himself- that’s all it is, he assures his teammates. Of course, that’s all there is to it, he’s Captain America, there can’t be anything wrong with perfection, can there?  
He foregoes the group meal and instead goes to the gym. While his friends are eating their well-deserved meal he pummelleds the heavily reinforced bags until they split, reprimanding himself all the while. He doesn’t need the meal, if he goes without then his friends will get the nutrients they need, not all of them are genetically enhanced super-soldiers. No, he reasons, they need it more than himself. He still can’t shake that feeling of wrongness, though. After he has disposed of the busted punching bags, reprimanding himself at wasting Tony’s hard work, he returns to his room, ignoring the pleas for him to join them and that they saved him some pizza slices. He waves them off, claiming loss of appetite again and sits in his room. Taking out the bandages and wrapping the white fabric around the tattered skin of his knuckle- which he finds rather odd because he heals extremely quickly. He still refuses to believe that there is anything wrong with him.  
The tremors pick up the pace until he is shivering- uncontrollably and erratic. He looks around frantically looking for the source of these shakes but finds none. He lies down on his bed, staring up the plain ceiling, his visions focusing and unfocusing at random intervals and he finds that he has lost track of time. Soon enough he finds that he has fallen asleep. The feeling still hasn’t left.

* * *

 

He wakes up more tired than the night before and soon enough he had fallen asleep again. Waking up again, more successfully, this time, he looks at the clock. 13:42 it reads in its glaringly annoying neon letters and he finds that he can’t look at it any longer. His head pounds and his vision is bleary, whether it is because of the fact that he just woke up or some other factor he does not know. His mouth is dry and his ears feel like they have been stuffed with cotton, all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears and the hard beating of his heart. He sits up and closes his eyes against the sudden onslaught of dizziness. Once he has righted himself he stands up, his legs feel weak and his movements are sluggish. His whole body is racked with shivers and the sense of wrongness just won't leave him alone. He ignores it. Shuffling slowly towards his on-suite bathroom, thanking the heavens for them, he drinks from the tap. But no matter how much of the cool liquid he gulps down the itchiness won't go away. He stands up again and then without realising it the floor had fallen from beneath him. His head hitting the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom floor and the tap is left on. His vision goes black and he decides in his last conscious moments that there is something very wrong with him.

* * *

 

He wakes up to the hazy voices of hospital staff and the annoying beeps of the medicals equipment. He hears snippets of conversations.  
‘-hasn’t eaten for three weeks-’  
‘-passed out from exhaustion-’  
‘-serum couldn’t heal him fast enough-’  
He falls unconscious again.

* * *

 

He wakes up into a more aware consciousness, this time, he struggles with his eyelids and when he wins he focuses on the sombre form of his friends.  
“What happened, Steve” Bucky’s soft voice makes him flinch.  
“Yeah, Cap, we only found you because Jarvis told me that your tap had been left on” Tony’s accusing, yet saddened glare sends shivers down his spine. He notices absently that he has a tube in his nose.  
“It’s better this way” He croaks out, his throat dry and voice crackly, Bruce hands him a glass of water and he drinks it gratefully.  
“What better if you starve yourself to death?” Bucky accused and he flinches again.  
“That wasn’t what I wanted,” He says meekly.  
“Then what did you want? Huh?” Bucky questions him and he can feel himself getting smaller in the crisp hospital bed.  
“The less I eat, the more there is for everyone else. You all need it more than me.” He admits and he can see the change of atmosphere in the room, Bucky drags a weary hand over his eyes.  
“Steve, don’t be so self-sacrificing all the time.” Bucky pleads.  
“It’s not the 20’s anymore. You don’t have to keep doing this. Please,”  
Looking at all of the caring faces he realises something. He hasn’t got one foot in the grave anymore and it certainly isn’t the great depression either. Faced with his friends upset he realises he doesn’t need to do this anymore. He knows that it isn’t going to stop straight away but, he thinks, he can do this.

**Author's Note:**

> Shitty ending, I am sorry


End file.
